


In a stranger's coat

by JuuhachiGo



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Freddy would say it comes with the job, Language, M/M, and he would be damn right about it, blame it on Quentin, my embarassing attempts at writing in a language that isn't my own, p0rn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 23:22:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuuhachiGo/pseuds/JuuhachiGo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Kid—” Larry manages “this is completely fucked up, y'hear me?”</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a stranger's coat

“Kid—” Larry manages “this is completely fucked up, y'hear me?”  
Yeah, Freddy (or is it Mr. Orange now?) can hear him just fine, and would just love to tell him that he needs to relax and shut his goddamn trap, except it can be a bit of a problem if you're doing your best to suck him off – and stifles his laughter back in his throat for obvious reasons, else imagine tomorrow's headlines, _Undercover cop chokes on criminal's cock_ , not exactly the best way to die. Maybe.  
Thing is, he's not really sure of that either, because he can hear the man make all sort of _noises_ up there, no kidding, and Freddy's sure some part of him should be definitely freaking out right now, because the whole thing feels real sweet to him, cock in his mouth an' all. So much for 'don't let them go under your skin, boy, not for real', because Larry's a nice guy, and they don't tell you that at the academy – one day you say that yeah, you're fuckin' gonna go undercover, kick some asses and blow the damn diamond heist, and next day you find yourself eating greasy tacos at an impossible hour, telling jokes to this fella, and think that _fuck_ , they are normal people when they don't go 'round pistol-whipping people and slitting their throats and whatnot. Bonus points for taco-based breakfasts (or dinners – no rest for the wicked, as it were). Or maybe it's just Larry – he's old-school, like a gentleman or something, minus the stick up the ass. 'Kid', he calls him, and Freddy decides he likes that. Better than Orange, anyways. It's not that it's simple, no way it can be, but one morning it's five o' clock and the taco is dripping on his shirt cuffs, and he's all “I want a vacation when this is all over, gettin' too old for this kinda thing, you know?”  
“Mhh.”  
“C'mon, don't 'mhh' me, there must be somethin' you wanna do?”  
“Dunno,” he shrugs casually.  
“Kids these days,” Larry scoffs “You gotta learn to fly high if you wanna live this life – I've seen a fucking thousand guys like you gettin' all confident on their first serious job and then wham! got a bullet through them skull and who the fuck remembers their name anymore. But let me tell ya, you have guts, you better use 'em and stay the fuck alive 'till we wrap the damn job up.”  
“Just so you know, man, maybe you _are_ gettin' too old for this shit”  
“... Fuck off, Junior” he grunts, but Freddy gets the hint of laughter underneath, and knows he shouldn't feel relieved about it. He smiles back and says nothing.  
“... oh, and Blue Eyes? Is that taco juice all over your shirt?”  
“Aw, fuck.”  
And Larry just leaves some crumpled bills on the diner table. Freddy stretches his arms, yawning, then follows him outside.  
“Why did ya tell me your name?” he asks him, licking his lips, part of his brain reeling – _don't go there, man, don't fucking go there--_  
Larry just shoots a cocky grin back at him.  
“You look like a tough guy, no way in hell I'm gonna get called like a bucket of paint. Not gonna happen!”  
“Well, 'least your's not goddamn glowing...”  
“... but you're not Pink either, aintcha, kid?”  
“Right,” he chuckles, and they start walking back to the car. 

*

It's, like, the sixth motherfucking taco of the week and Freddy feels like he's some real lousy cop. Diner's empty and the light hanging over their heads cracks and buzzes like some fucking swarm of flies. The last bite of his breakfast is staring at him from the oily bottom of the paper wrap, and suddenly he doesn't feel like finishing it. Larry's chewing on the filter of his cigarette, and looks at him half tired, half amused. Looks pretty much like the old bastard he is, too, but Freddy can't help but smile at the thought, and realizes he could _tell_ him, just like that – expecting a bullet somewhere through him for that, sure. Still, it _does_ feel like a very fucking safe thing to do, and that's fucking gross and terrifying, thank you very much.  
He clenches the wrap into his fist, curls it into a ball, taco shit everywhere because fuck, he forgot. Leaves the ball into a corner of the table, frowns at his own stained fingers.  
“We could go somewhere nice, I s'pose.”  
“Huh?”  
“Y'know, after the job?”  
“You really are a nice kid, ain't you,” and before Freddy actually catches the quirk tugging at Larry's lips – hell, before he can do _anything_ at all – the man wraps his fingertips around his mouth and sends a shiver all the way down his spine, and maybe it _is_ just Larry, 'cause he licks his fingers clean, nice and slow, and Freddy can just think _God I hope no one is actually behind that counter_ and _over damn taco leftovers? seriously, man?_ and _what kind of crap am I even thinking right now?_  
And eventually decides he can enjoy a goddamn kiss if he fuckin' wants to.

*

Long story short, that's basically how you end up sucking your buddy's cock - and loving every inch of it in your mouth.  
They're both quite familiar with the whole stuff now, it's been how long since it all started?, even though something still feels a little awkward about it, and Freddy still has to work on the angle somehow, but Larry is all flat on the white tiles of the men's room, cold probably seeping into his shoulders. The way he's trying to strangle his own moans, hands pulling at his hair, makes Freddy think that he can't be that bad of a cocksucker, and has to do his best not to chuckle. That's a fucking dangerous habit.

*

Truth is, Larry's one helluva fuck buddy but he really _ain't_ – last time he checked, mornings still tangled together into bedsheets and yesterday's discarded clothes were not included, and let's not mention all the chitchat coming with it.  
“Mornin' kid, you look like hell, shoulda let you sleep some more.”  
“Says the rosebud!”  
“Very funny, kid.”  
“Just tryin' to get my share of credit for that, y'know?”  
“Yes I do,” Larry mutters, lips tracing the curve of his neck.  
“... It's Freddy.”  
“Ain't it now?” and they have no clue 'bout what the fuck's happenin' to them both, but they're laughing together like a couple of morons.  
Well, Freddy muses, it's a truth. Good place to start. Never been much of a glowing guy to begin with.

**Author's Note:**

> 10/09/2012, 4:16 a. m. I haven't written fics in English in a veeeery long time. Seems that Reservoir Dogs did some magic, because these two are heartbreakingly awesome and there is no way they can speak my native tongue in my brain. I'm officially surprised XDDD, though I cannot shake the feeling I didn't do them justice XDDD. Then again, I've never used such massive quantities of slang and I had way too much fun with this. Too bad Freddy sounds like a romantic sap in the last paragraph, sigh. Hope you can forgive me :) any kind of help will be very much appreciated! Also, I don't know how Crimsontriforce puts up with me sometimes!


End file.
